


Five Times Natasha Inappropriately Checked Out Her Neighbour (and One Time He Inappropriately Checked Out Her)

by Violsva



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Accidental Voyeurism (ish), Alternate Universe - Neighbours, Be_compromised Valentine's Day Promptathon, Blushing, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 22:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17886272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: For the prompt: You’re the neighbor that keeps their curtains open, even when changing, and I can’t talk to you without blushing.





	Five Times Natasha Inappropriately Checked Out Her Neighbour (and One Time He Inappropriately Checked Out Her)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gsparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsparkle/gifts).



On a Saturday evening after she’s gone to the law office for a couple hours and ended up working the whole day, Natasha slumps on the couch with a glass of wine when movement catches her eye. Someone’s moved in to the apartment on the other side of the courtyard, apparently.

Someone who is currently stripping his t-shirt off to reveal a chest gleaming with sweat. He’s blond, and has obviously been moving boxes and furniture around, and he’s _gorgeous_. He fans himself a little, tosses the shirt on the floor, and turns—that is a _nice_ back—to go into the kitchen.

Natasha realizes she’s been staring openly through the window and quickly shifts and takes a sip of her wine. She turns on Netflix, and determinedly doesn’t look when her new neighbour comes back into his living room with a beer, still shirtless. He’s probably going to turn out to be a dumb jock anyway.

*

She’s getting the mail when he comes in from walking his dog. She closes her mailbox, and he says, “Lucky, slow—hi—dammit—” he drops his keys, and the dog goes for them “—no, Lucky, don’t eat those—”

The dog holds the keys in its mouth, not eating them but not showing any sign of wanting to give them back, tail wagging wildly as it dodges its owner’s hands. Before the game of keep-away can get too involved Natasha unlocks the door and holds it open for him.

“Oh, thanks,” he says, grinning at her. It’s a very nice grin. Natasha realizes to her alarm that her cheeks feel warm, and tries to stop it. She does _not_ blush.

Her neighbour doesn’t seem to notice—Lucky happily runs through the door, and he hurries to avoid getting dragged after him.

It’s definitely him. Those biceps are unmistakable, even if the rest is ... unexpected. Natasha takes a moment to connect the two ideas in her mind, then follows him up the stairs.

That view is also spectacular.

*

The next morning he wanders into his living room in just a towel. Natasha’s waking up slowly, so she stares for over a minute as he drinks coffee, clearly not all that awake himself. Then she comes back to herself and tries to find something else to do. She can’t think of anything, somehow, even though it’s a Monday and she should be—getting ready for work. Yes.

Natasha tears her eyes away from her neighbour’s abs and goes to put on her makeup.

When she goes back into the living room he’s zipping up his pants. Her eyes widen, and then she grabs her purse and refuses to feel disappointed that she didn’t get there sooner.

*

Apparently that’s his morning routine, wandering around shirtless drinking coffee straight from the pot. Natasha doesn’t stop watching it, even though she feels vaguely guilty about it.

Usually he gets changed in his bedroom, but when he’s in a rush he changes while he’s making coffee, or starts to drop the towel before leaving the living room. Natasha tries to make herself leave the room for that, at least. He never seems to look through his own window, or maybe he’s still too asleep to notice her.

It’s only really awkward when she meets him in person. That happens more often than she’d like—except that if she wasn’t creeping on him through the window she’d be happy to see him. He’s always friendly, at the mailboxes or in the laundry room or walking his dog outside. He’s friendly to everyone, and she’s pretty sure he knows most of the building within a couple weeks. Except for her, because all she can do in response to his greetings is blush bright red and smile or wave, and not say anything. She is really tired of blushing so much.

*

Natasha’s only human, much as she likes to pretend she isn’t. She keeps making herself turn away, but her neighbour keeps walking around half naked—or more than half, sometimes. And she can’t possibly be blamed for staring when her neighbour stomps around his living room, yelling at someone on the phone, dripping wet and _stark naked_. Presumably yelling at the plumber.

She keeps expecting him to turn and notice her, and she has no idea how she’ll handle that, but she honestly can’t look away until he puts down the phone and walks out of his living room. Still without looking at her, thank god, because she has no excuse for this.

*

A rainstorm starts up on Natasha’s drive home, and when she gets to her building she sits in the parking lot for a few minutes, hoping it will slacken off. It doesn’t, though, and at last she gives up and runs for the door, holding her briefcase over her head as an utterly insufficient umbrella. She gets soaked anyway.

She strips off her blouse the moment her apartment door is shut, unable to stand the wet fabric clinging to her for a second longer. She’s about to go for a towel when she glances sideways and sees him.

Her neighbour is staring at her from his apartment, mouth slightly open, a video game controller forgotten in one hand.

When he realizes she’s seen him he turns bright red—blushing so dark she can see it from her window—and then averts his gaze, moving his fist in a circle over his chest. He looks like he’s about to turn away, but. Well.

Natasha waves, and then smiles when he looks back at her. He stares in surprise. She’s not sure how much he can see from his apartment, but she winks at him and stretches her arms over her head, before turning and slowly walking to the bathroom. It’s only fair.

*

The next time she sees him, in the laundry room, he immediately says “Hi, look, I’m sorry—”

“No,” Natasha interrupts, blushing again—but then, so is he. She’s not sure how to explain it, but she says, “You walk around shirtless a lot.”

“Huh?” he says. He looks down at himself, and she sees him realize what she meant. “Oh. Oh, uh. Really?”

“So, I mean, _I’m_ sorry.”

“Really?” He looks utterly baffled. “I mean, you really...?”

The fact that she finds him gorgeous does not mean they’re going to actually like each other, she knows that. But she _does_ like what she’s seen of him so far, and it’s certainly a good start.

So, “Would you like to go out for coffee sometime?” she asks.

She’s getting very familiar with his surprised face. But he says, “Sure. I can do Saturday afternoon? Three?”

“Sounds great,” Natasha says, blushing again, goddammit, “but I’ve just realized I don’t actually know your name.”

**Author's Note:**

> Six weeks later, at a bar after work:
> 
> Maria: “So why didn’t you just close your own blinds?”
> 
> Natasha: “...”
> 
> “... I never thought of that.”
> 
> Steve: *falls off his stool laughing*


End file.
